Something Like A Friend
by Darkflame's Pyre
Summary: Sometimes we find friends in the most unexpected of ways. A Bound story. Is related to my other fics, but can also stand alone. A gift for a dear friend of mine. You know who you are, Honey. Fic Nine of the Bound Oneshot Collection.


**A/N: Hey everyone! This story is a special gift to a very dear friend of mine, who a couple of weeks ago did something that really helped me out in a really big and amazing way. She knows who she is! She said that in return, she merely wanted something that was John-related, so I was very happy to oblige! I finally got my thoughts in gear and finished it!**

**This is my hugely-epic-hugs-and-cookies thanks to you, hunny! Xx**

**Everyone else, I hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: If not for Sylvia and Gerry Anderson, I would not be able to play in this wonderful playground, so no; I do not own the Thunderbirds.**

**Oh! Also; I make no claim to knowing how the American college system works. I shall try my best, but if anyone could help me with any errors; that would be much appreciated!**

You often discover friends in the strangest of ways. That was something that I found with great interest when I became a freshman at Harvard University. Being so far from home and father and brothers was stressful to say the least, but I had done it because it was about time for me to be able to stretch my wings a little. I wanted to show the world that Johnny-Glenn Tracy wasn't just a little shrimp with his head stuck in the computer.

I was a dreamer first and foremost, and my primary motivation for enrolling in the course was to create a computer that had programs designed to allow people who had social issues like I had in my early years, to communicate with others.

It was a specially designed advanced placement with other students —either my age or even younger— to enable us to 'not get lost' within the campus world of 'drunken stay-up all night parties' that probably would have occurred if we were to be placed with the mainstream students. That was my father's words, not mine, just so you know.

We were housed collectively in separate girls and boys dorms, and we had our own schedules that allowed us to pursue studies in the areas that most intrigued us. The laser communications course was my inner scientific engineer coming to the forefront, and it allowed me to be free to research in more depth the use of advanced technological theories. It was in the hope that I could take steps towards building the computer that I had been creating in my mind since the age of eleven.

With me being only sixteen years old, my father was understandably worried about me going off to college so early, but once his friend; Hiram Hackenbacker, who had a son around the same age as my younger brother, Alan, mentioned that he was going to be a part of the team in the quantum physics department, he seemed to be much more at ease with the idea.

It was soothing to me as well. I had somehow managed to train myself to speak 'normally' when with other people, but Brains —as Professor Hackenbacker was nicknamed— had no trouble whatsoever understanding all of the technical overly-sophisticated language that came out of my mouth.

I had been there for around six weeks, and was doing fairly okay in the social stakes. Unlike the school in my hometown of Lawrence, Kansas, Harvard was a community of like-minded academic people, and there was a huge range of high-level specialists in varying courses. I had found absolutely no trouble fitting in, though I hadn't gotten to know anyone in any kind of depth. I should have guessed though, that some people weren't at all as tolerant as my brilliant-but-naïve mind had convinced me that they were.

It was a Friday evening; the sun was setting beneath the artificial skyline of buildings and tree-lined walkways of the campus, spilling orange and pink-hued lights upon everything it touched. The wind was cold in the waning light, and I noticed the rippling of the detritus on the ground and the play of lights in an abstract kind of way; not fully paying attention to my surroundings.

I was not an artist, but even in my preoccupation with my textbook, I noticed various details that my younger brother, Virgil was likely to focus on and miraculously bring to life in one of his drawings or paintings.

I had a complex set of interconnected calculations coalescing within my head, and I think that I was more absorbed than usual, because as the walk was altogether silent at that time of evening, any tiny sound stood out like a foghorn in an underground tunnel. I really should have registered the sound of footsteps rushing their way through the fallen leaves on the ground.

As it was, I only just noticed the presence of another human in the vicinity a split second before we slammed into each other with a bone-jarring crash.

Though I was in fact, a very skinny, insubstantially-built person, I collided with the figure with enough force to send them toppling to the ground. Laptop case, books and papers went flying everywhere. I dropped my own texts and bag simultaneously, and I realised that the person was crying.

She was around the same age as me; remarkably pretty, with long wavy brown hair and a pale, heart-shaped face. She had a bright red scarf wrapped around her throat against the chilly autumn air, and there were a heavily-magnified pair of glasses falling off her nose, knocked askew from the impact she had taken with my chest. I recognised her instantly as being one of the other teens in the advanced program, though I knew for certain that she was enrolled in a different course to me.

I stood stock-still for a split second as the unexpected collision registered, before dropping to my knees and looking her over in concern, heedless of the dampness that spread through the legs of my jeans as they came into contact with the dew-soaked ground.

"Are you okay?" I asked her hesitantly, reaching out to place my hand on her shoulder.

She looked unfocusedly at me for a second, her vision seemingly obscured by tears and the loss of her glasses, and then she hiccupped frantically as she tried to wipe away the evidence of her anguish. By the look of her, she had already been upset before I had run her over. I was happy that I hadn't caused her undue stress, but also worried that she seemed to be hurting over something that had occurred previously. It was an odd thing to be feeling over a complete stranger.

"I-I'm alright. She nodded shakily, before blindly snatching for the array of papers and folders that had spilled out of her arms; now getting damp even with the short time they had come into contact with the ground. "I didn't look where I was going."

"It's not your fault." I assured her, locating her glasses and handing them back to her. "I was reading and I wasn't paying attention. I do that frequently."

She smiled shyly through the remaining tears, as I handed her the last of her books, remembering the manners that my parents and grandmother had taught me, guiding her to her feet. "I hope that I didn't hurt you?" She spoke in a question; her accent was different, but I liked how it sounded.

I shook my head, smiling a little. "I was going to say the same thing. I'm not exactly a cushion am I?"

She giggled a bit, and then drew herself up in height, nodding her head solemnly. "Well, I should really thank-you for being so kind and helping me gather everything up. It's happened a few times since I've been here, and no-one has stopped to help. It is very impolite." She sniffed a bit, the final remnants of her tears. "May I have the name of my charming helper?"

I blushed a little, and I cursed my fair colouring. No-one had ever called me charming before.

"John." I said, handing her re-packed bag to her. "John Tracy."

"I'm Sherry." She beamed. "Sherry Buyhan."

I hesitated little before asking, because despite my running into her, she was happier now. "If you don't mind me asking, why were you crying?" I cleared my throat and tried not to sound so nosy. "I mean, has something happened? I don't like it when someone cries." I cursed my own tongue. Why when things mattered, did I have to be so formal?

She coloured a little and shrugged. "Let's just say that being near-sighted and smart doesn't always gain you admirers. I thought that this would be better; I'd be able to show my intelligence, not hide it away. I feel like Hermione."

I was a little puzzled by that. "Who?"

She stared at me a little oddly. "Hermione Granger out of Harry Potter?"

Oh. That made sense. Scott and Virgil had read the books; I had found I have no patience with anything without any scientific basis to speak of. "She's the one who had answers to everything, yeah?"

Sherry nodded. "They called me a know-it-all at high school. I thought it would have stopped here, but they're just as vicious back in SA." She seemed a little shocked to realise that she was spilling a lot about herself, but I found I was intrigued. I hadn't made any 'friends' yet, but Sherry seemed to have similar interests to me, and I felt immediately drawn to her strange outlook.

"I know what you mean; I went to school in a place where intelligence and shyness was a crime in a teenager's mind."

Sherry brightened, and I felt the need to make her smile a lot more, and to give her some support from someone who seemed to know where she was coming from. I took a breath, and did something that I had never thought of doing before.

"Would you like to get a drink of cocoa with me?"

She looked at me a little shocked, but I warmed despite the chilly air at the amazement that spread its way across her face. I realised that she must be rather a lonely person, and like myself, might just possibly need a friend.

I scrambled to make sure that I wasn't putting the moves on her, God I was unused to this making friends gig. "I mean, just to get warm; it's really chilly out here, don't you think?"

She seemed to understand my awkwardness, and took my arm to my utter surprise. She further startled me by somehow, unconsciously reading my thoughts. "I would very much like to be your friend, Mr John Tracy."

I knew then, somehow, that I had just found myself a lifelong friend.

##

_I speak to her now, from my station up on Thunderbird Five; we are both six years older, and despite the distance —not only miles in terms of hemispheres and time-zones, but also in terms of space, we are still friends. We chat about our jobs and life, as close as ever although I cannot truthfully tell her about every aspect of my career. The living on a space station is one bit in particular, but that was easily fixed by telling her the truthful part; that I work in a lab for my father. It explains all of the electronics at least._

_ We dated very briefly around age eighteen, but we both realised that we were suited better to each other as friends. She called me tonight to ask where to send the invite to her wedding. Needless to say, I am thrilled for her. She has changed a lot from when we were teenagers, but at the same time, she is very much the same as the girl I met on that sun-drenched autumn evening._

**A/N: Please let me know what you think!**

**-Pyre Xx**


End file.
